


From Yorkshire to New York

by andromedacrawley



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance, Second Chances, s6 au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-21 08:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedacrawley/pseuds/andromedacrawley
Summary: “What about what you said? About... about caring too much?”“Since when has loving someone been a bad thing?”After their love affair turns sour, Tom leaves Downton seemingly for good. A few months later, Mary leaves to live with her grandmother in Manhattan, only for their paths to collide once more.
Relationships: Anna Bates & Mary Crawley, Cora Crawley & Mary Crawley, Edith Crawley & Mary Crawley, Mary Crawley & Martha Levinson, Mary Crawley/Evelyn Napier (brief), Tom Branson/Mary Crawley
Comments: 52
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I normally wouldn’t start a new story when I already have one in progress, but this one is practically finished and just needs to be edited, so I decided to post it now. March also happens to be my birthday month so I wanted to do something a little special! It is fifteen chapters long and I’m going to try to update daily, though I know there will be a weekend where I will be much too busy to update.
> 
> Another quick note: this story takes place in an AU where neither Tom nor Mary really had any relationships after the deaths of Sybil and Matthew— so no Tony, Charles, Edna, or Miss Bunting. The trip to Brancaster in S5 is also during the holiday season here!
> 
> That all being said, I hope you enjoy!

**From Yorkshire to New York**

**Chapter One**

"Tom's just left."

"I see," said Mary, not bothering to look up from her letter. Evelyn Napier had written a couple days ago, which had been some good luck, and she was accepting his invitation to dinner in London. Of course, it would likely fizzle into nothing, as things with her and Evelyn were wont to do, but she needed a distraction.

"I wish you had at least come to say goodbye," Mama said with unreserved disapproval. Mary's movements stilled, the ink blotting on the word _love_. "I don't know why the two of you have been quarreling but it would have been nice if you could have been the bigger person and left things on good terms— and you could have said goodbye to Sybbie, too."

Mary ignored the guilt that was rising up within her. "I told her goodbye this morning when I went to check up on George." She blinked twice. "Besides... in a couple years time, she won't remember who I am, so what's the point, anyway?" She forced herself to say, finishing up one more sentence of the letter.

"She's Sybil's only child. And he was Sybil's husband."

"I'm quite aware of that already, Mama," Mary gritted out— as if she needed reminding.

Her mother stood in the doorway for a moment longer, sighing before she left. Mary swallowed, ignoring the lump in her throat and the tears welling in her eyes, and returned to her letter.

* * *

She wasn't sure how it had started nor when it had started. Truthfully, it didn't matter. All that was of consequence was that it _had_ happened.

At first, it was kiss in the library after swapping stories and sipping glasses of whiskey. She had thought it was a one-off: a manifestation of their mutual loneliness, a way to seek out companionship, even when it wasn't with the person they wanted it to be with.

But then it happened again. And again and again. Some of it was her, she would admit— contriving reasons to get him alone before dinner, tugging his hand to lead him into the wooded area of the estate where she would pin him to a tree, sometimes even daring to sneak a kiss in an empty hallway, always flirting with danger and the possibility of getting caught. Tom had played it much more safe; he would wait until it was the two of them alone once everyone else had gone to bed or invite her down to the office. It was like a game— one that had Mary's heart racing each time she thought of a new way to make it happen again.

But it was wrong. She knew that. He was Sybil's husband, which meant he was off limits to her. It was far too easy to forget sometimes, when he had made the transition in her mind from _Branson,_ the chauffeur who had married her sister, to _Tom_ , the man who joined them for dinner, the man who was the agent. And it was even harder to recall who he had once been when they were alone together in a room, his eyes trained on her, lips parted, looking unspeakably handsome in his dinner jacket...

Now that he was gone, there was no temptation left. She told herself it was a good thing.

* * *

The dulcet strains of the piano played in the background as Mary and Evelyn ate. "I'm so pleased you accepted," admitted Evelyn, cutting up his meat, glancing up at her every couple of seconds. "I've always enjoyed spending time with you."

Mary smiled pleasantly, saying, "I'm glad you invited me. I needed an excuse to get away from home and seeing an old friend seemed too good a chance to miss," before sipping her wine.

Evelyn gave her almost a pitying look. "I expect it must be hard for you... with your husband..." He trailed off. "You must miss him terribly."

Mary nodded, saying nothing. Of course, she missed Matthew. Every moment of every day was spent missing him... but truthfully, when Evelyn had spoken, the first person she thought of was Tom.

It wasn't really a surprise. Since losing their respective spouses, Tom had become one of her dearest friends. He was the only one who knew what it was like the lose the love of one's life too soon and raise a child by one's self. He always knew just the thing to say when she was feeling blue and sometimes he knew when it was better to say nothing at all and leave her to her own thoughts. Until the topic of his leaving had arisen, they had scarcely ever fought, despite their fiery, argumentative natures. Mary could confide in him in ways she couldn't with anyone else, not even Anna.

But she missed more than just that. She missed those stolen kisses and watching his mouth as he talked, not bothering to concentrate on the words, though when she did she was always fascinated (barring his references to the accursed automobile). She missed hearing him speak, his accent somehow more prominent when it was late at night, the way he would get passionate about his politics. She even missed going their separate ways when they reached the top of the stairs, longing for the moments when she had been able to glance over her shoulder at his shadowy, retreating figure and wishing she could take his hand and lead him back to her room.

Of course, she would never admit it, just as she had never admitted to any of it, not even to him. Still, her thoughts remained fixed firmly on Tom instead of the man she was dining with for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

_OCTOBER 1924_

" _Leaving?"_

" _I can't stay here."_

" _Why not?"_

" _You know why."_

" _As a matter of fact, I don't."_

" _Mary..."_

" _Tell me!"_

" _I don't belong here."_

" _What do you mean? Of course you do! You're family!"_

" _Am I?"_

" _What's that supposed to mean?"_

" _You don't treat me like family."_

" _I don't understand. If someone's said something—"_

" _It's not what anyone's said. It's about you, Mary."_

" _Me?"_

" _Mary... We can't."_

" _Can't what?"_

" _You know. Please don't make me say it."_

" _I know. I know we can't. But... But it doesn't mean you have to go."_

" _I think it does."_

" _It won't happen again! We can— I promise, I won't let it!"_

" _That's a promise I don't think either of us can keep. I told myself after the first time we couldn't let it happen again, and if I know you, you told yourself the same."_

" _I don't want you to go."_

" _I wish I didn't have to."_

" _If you don't want to, then you shouldn't. You should just stay here."_

" _Mary—"_

" _Don't lie to me or to yourself. If you want to stay here, then you should. Don't make excuses."_

" _I'm not making any excuses! I don't want to ruin anything!"_

" _You'll ruin everything if you go away!"_

* * *

Papa opened a letter, eyes widening. He cheered visibly as he read it. Mary noticed, but said nothing, eating her breakfast placidly. No matter how much marmalade she slathered onto her toast, it always managed to taste of nothing. Edith, however, couldn't resist. "Who's the letter from?"

"Tom." Mary stilled. "He sends his love to us all." She dropped the toast on her plate and left the table. She knew they both thought she was being melodramatic but she was too incensed to care.

He didn't mean it... about sending his _love_. If he loved her, he would have stayed. Maybe he meant it when it came to the rest of the family but it was impossible for Mary to believe it extended to her.

It wasn't until she had pushed open the front doors and marched outside that Mary realized her feet were leading her into the direction of the office. Oh well... she needed to get started on work, anyway, and she had already ruined breakfast.

It was hard to concentrate, especially when the office held so many memories. She tried to focus on the report on her desk, but it was hard when she remembered the time he had cleared everything off of it to lay her down and kiss her senseless, remarking afterwards about how foolish he had been and that it would take him hours to sort things again. " _Do you regret it, though?"_ she had asked, aiming to sound coquettish but secretly curious. She had been gratified when he sheepishly admitted, " _No_ ," and kissed her yet again.

Mary glanced down at the paper, realizing she hadn't absorbed a single word she read. _Damn_ , she thought, before amending it to, _Damn him,_ without any of the venom it deserved.

* * *

_Lady Mary,_

_I don't know if you remember me at all, but I'm the fellow you went out shooting with at Brancaster. I know I made something of an arse of myself at times, but I rather enjoyed your company. I want to make it up to you in some way. I'm coming up to Yorkshire next weekend to test drive a new car. Would you care to join me?_

_Henry Talbot_

* * *

_DECEMBER 1924_

She wished she hadn't done it. Past experience had taught Mary that it was silly to do such a thing. It had backfired most wonderfully when she tried it out with Sir Anthony...

Yet Mary couldn't help herself. They were at Brancaster for the holidays and a handsome man was paying attention to her. What else was she going to do? She had felt neglected in the most recent weeks, their wretched fighting driving a wedge between what had once been a close relationship.

So Mary joined Mr. Talbot for the shoot, merely tolerating his company and letting her eyes straying further down the stretch, where Tom was with Lady Sinderby. When they all dined together, Mary made a great show of flirting and laughing at Mr. Talbot's jokes, even when they weren't all that funny. Mary was pleased when Lord Sinderby brought out the gramophone, as it was the perfect opportunity to dance with Mr. Talbot.

Her efforts payed off, because during her second dance with him, a familiar voice asked, "Do you mind if I cut in?" to Mr. Talbot.

Mr. Talbot had looked over to Mary before saying, "Very well," and letting Tom take over.

Mary pretended to be completely unaffected, which wasn't such a feat for her, but under the present circumstances it felt like quite the accomplishment. She was glad she was wearing gloves, or else he could have felt her sweaty hands. Mary looked over his shoulder, avoiding looking at his face.

She was shocked when he began leaning forward. Surely he didn't mean to kiss her in this room full of people? She could feel eyes on them, namely those of their family, who had witnessed their worst fight mere days before leaving for Brancaster.

But, much to her disappointment, Tom didn't kiss her. "Did you really think that would work?" He murmured, low in her ear.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," she answered blithely.

"Trying to make me jealous?"

"Who says I was trying to do that?" She asked, feeling pleased. For once in all this, she finally felt as though she had the upper hand. "I've just been enjoying Mr. Talbot's company. Besides," she added, unable to resist, "For something that you are claiming doesn't work, you certainly found your way over to me in short time."

"Don't toy with me." For the first time since he came over, she met his eyes. "I'm not your puppet. I can do as I please."

"I'm sure you can," she replied in a condescending tone. She delighted in the flash of irritation in his eyes. "So what are you going to do about it?"

* * *

_Dear Mr. Talbot,_

_Thank you for your invitation but I am afraid I must decline. I am afraid I gave you the wrong impression when we met last and I do not wish to deceive you any longer. Besides, I am afraid I would have made poor company. To say I am not fond of motorcars is an understatement._

_I am sorry if this causes you any pain. Truly, I do._

_Sincerely,_

_Lady Mary Crawley_

* * *

_DECEMBER 1924_

It was a cool night but Mary felt as if she were on fire. It had never been like _this_. His lips were everywhere, his tongue and teeth brushing against the skin of her neck. She wished she could do something but found herself hardly able support her legs. The only thing keeping her upright was his body and the automobile she was being pressed against.

The only lights they had at their disposal were the oil lamps hanging in the rafters of the garage. Mary tipped her head back, allowing him more access. His hands were on her hips, gripping tightly, the door handle digging into her spine.

She thought his lips might return to her mouth one more, but instead Tom began working his way down. Every inch of her exposed flesh was his for the taking. Mary's arms were wound around his neck and she allowed her dressing gown to slip to the floor. She was past caring if the silk fabric was ruined or not.

Things had never gone this far before. There had been a few daring moments, over the past couple of months, where their hands had ventured places they weren't supposed to, but nothing had ever been as charged as this.

It occurred to Mary, as another gasp left her throat, that this was really going to happen. When they snuck back into their rooms that night, they wouldn't be left wondering what might have occurred if they let things go a bit further, because that line was about to be crossed. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she moved her head so their lips met again.

When he wrenched open the door of the car, Mary peered at the backseat then back at him with a million questions in her gaze. She finally settled on asking, "Won't the chauffeur overhear?" She had no objections otherwise, though she could admit that this was hardly the place she imagined this happening... and over the past few months, she had imagined it far too many times to count.

Tom shook his head. "He's got a cottage. Just like I had."

Mary blinked. It was rare that he mentioned his time as a chauffeur, and even rarer that he mentioned it at times like this. "Good," she finally said, kissing him yet again before climbing into the car, Tom joining her less than a second later.

There was no more talking after that. Not for a while.

Just as there was no talking now.

* * *

She hadn't done it to make him stay. She'd done it because she wanted to... though vainly, when she woke alone in her bed at Brancaster Castle mere hours later after they hastily dressed in the wee hours of the morning, a part of her had begun to hope this changed things.

It didn't. He was still going to America, more resolved than ever before. And the fighting grew worse and worse, until Mary couldn't stand to be in the same room as him. Life at Downton was a nightmare for their family, who was witnessing their civil war and had no idea why they were so at odds, especially when they had been such good friends before.

But the real hell was when Mary realized he really was going away, the night before he left. Still, it wasn't enough to convince her to leave her bedroom and go to his, desperately begging him to stay. She was Mary Crawley; she didn't beg.

And she knew it would have been pointless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments and birthday wishes! I appreciate it!

**From Yorkshire to New York**

**Chapter Two**

Anna arrived to her room, a curious expression on her face. Mary didn't ask but noted it carefully. She lowered the breakfast tray on Mary's lap before saying, "Lady Mary... I've had rather a strange letter."

"Oh?"

Anna procured a small, folded sheet of paper from her pocket. "There were two, actually. One for me, one for you. It was from Ireland." Mary froze. "From Mr. Branson." Her stomach plummeted. "He... He told me to give you this." She offered the letter to Mary.

Mary took it without hesitation and ripped it in half. She thought she heard a soft gasp, but tore it again, and again, and again, before handing the scraps to Anna. "Please place this in the fireplace where it belongs," she told her maid stiffly.

Anna blinked before following her mistress's orders. Mary reached for her teacup, her face composed into a perfectly blank mask, but her hand trembled, the bottom of the cup rattling against the saucer.

"I— I hope you don't mind, but I read yours. He told me to, in his letter to me."

Mary did mind. Servants weren't supposed to read their employer's mail. Still, it was Anna, and she had earned Mary's trust long ago. And if Tom had told her to... He had probably predicted she would destroy it without reading it. She hated to know that after all this time he knew how she would react. "I don't mind. I trust there was nothing of interest in it, anyway."

"He said he was sorry." Mary nearly spilled her tea. "He said... That he was in the wrong. He didn't say what it was about but... he sounded sincere."

Mary felt tears forming behind her eyes. What had he been apologizing for? For leaving? For the night in the garage at Brancaster? For all of it? She pushed it aside, simply saying, "Well, he's not forgiven. And I'm sorry, Anna, but I don't wish to know anymore, so please do not tell me."

Anna looked confused but nodded. "Very good, milady."

Mary picked at her breakfast but felt sick the whole time. She cursed herself, for being so weak as to feel utterly nauseated by a stupid letter. She only managed a few bites before ringing for Anna again, ready to start her day.

* * *

"I haven't heard from Tom lately," Mama said, sounding troubled at dinner. She either didn't notice Mary's knuckles turning white or didn't care because she continued, "I hope he's doing alright."

"I'm sure he is," Papa said hastily, eyes trained on Mary, whose only sign of displeasure now was the downward turn of her lips. "How are things going with the hospital?"

"Well, I suppose," Mama sighed. "Speaking of which, I do hope Sybbie's recovered from her cold. Tom was so worried—"

"You should come up to London with me, Mary," Edith jumped in, cutting Mama off. "I'm meeting up with Bertie Pelham to go to some nightclub. You could invite Evelyn along, if you wanted."

An evening with Edith wasn't exactly her idea of a good time, but Mary genuinely appreciated her efforts to help divert the conversation. Since Tom had left, things had neither improved nor gotten worse between them, which was a shock to everyone... even Mary, who had thought that since Tom was no longer her target, she might direct her vitriol at her usual victim. "I might," said Mary, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "I'll see what Evelyn is up to."

"He's such a nice man," Mama said, Tom-talk finally out of the way. _Good_. "Are you serious about him?"

 _No._ How could she possibly be? "Evelyn's a dear but he's just my friend for now." And, if she was being wholly honest with herself, he probably would remain a friend forever.

"Well, he's very nice. I'm glad you've been spending more time with him, Mary," said Mama. "Just try to make sure he knows where he stands."

Did Mama think she was an amateur? Just because there had been no one (that she knew of) since Matthew, it didn't mean she had completely forgotten how these things worked. "Don't worry, Mama." She rolled her eyes and reached for her water.

* * *

"Mummy," George said, perched on her lap during one of her daily visits to the nursery, "Do you miss Sybbie?"

Mary was stunned by the question. "Of course I do," she replied honestly, thinking of the darling little girl who had stolen her heart the moment she had entered the world. "I miss her everyday."

"So do I."

"At least you have Marigold to keep you company," said Mary, thinking of Edith's daughter. Edith had never confirmed such a thing to her, but it fairly obvious when one looked at a picture of Edith around that age. "Don't you like spending time with her?"

George nodded. "Do you miss Uncle Tom?"

Mary was momentarily taken aback. She could hardly stalk away from her son or cast him a withering glare for daring to utter his name... so she answered him truthfully. "Yes. Yes, I do. I miss him very much." It was nice, to be honest for once, and it wasn't as if George was going to tell anyone.

Mary didn't realize Edith was standing just outside the door, errand to the nursery forgotten as she listened in.

* * *

The nightclub was jam packed by the time the four of them arrived. Evelyn helped Mary out of his car, staring at her with unabashed reverence. Mary tried to encourage it, gracing him with one of her smiles, but the sincerity just wasn't there.

Edith and Bertie were content to go off on their own, which meant Mary and Evelyn were left to their own devices. "Will you allow me the honor of a dance?" asked Evelyn, and Mary accepted, figuring there was little else to do.

She tried to enjoy herself... really, she did. Mary had always liked dancing but she couldn't divorce this moment from the dance at Brancaster even though the music was coming from a live band instead of a tinny phonograph machine. She kept trying to notice the differences; the band onstage, full of uptempo rhythms, the sea of dancing couples surrounding them, Evelyn...

"You seem far away," he commented.

"Do I?" asked Mary. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I only wondered if you were alright."

"I'm perfectly fine," lied Mary, forcing yet another smile on her face. "Especially since I'm spending my evening in such good company."

Evelyn seemed relieved. "I'm glad to hear it." There was a pause. "Mary, I wondered if I might ask—"

But Mary never heard his question, because her concentration was broken by _him_. She swore she had seen him— blue eyes, brown hair that was almost always slicked down even though it looked much better in its natural state, a bright smile that made her heart feel warm...

But when she looked through the crowd, he was not there. It had been a figment of her imagination, a mere illusion.

"Mary? Mary, are you alright?"

Evelyn's voice brought her back into focus. "Yes, of course," she said, meeting his eyes with a smile. She was ready to put on an act and pretend all was well, but then she realized her heart wasn't in it. "I'm sorry... I don't know why I said that. I'm feeling a little under the weather—"

"Do you need to sit down?"

"I think I might," said Mary, and without any further hesitation he guided her off the dance floor.

They sat at a table and Evelyn offered to get her a drink. "I insist," he said, when she tried to tell him it was not necessary. "What would you like?"

"A whiskey with wa—" Mary didn't even finish what she was saying before realizing it was a bad idea. It would only serve to remind her of nights she needed to forget. "I'm sorry. I don't know what— I'll just have a glass of water."

"Of course." Evelyn gave her a smile and walked towards the bar.

Bertie and Edith checked up on her, joining them and having a couple drinks before returning to the dance floor. She watched them enviously, wondering if she would ever be happy again or if those days were behind her now.

"Are you feeling any better?"

Mary shook her head, not daring to look up at Evelyn. "I'm so sorry to ruin your evening, but I think I had best go back to Aunt Rosamund's and rest."

Evelyn was on his feet without another word. "Of course." Then, "I'll just let Edith know." Mary didn't bother watching him as he left, simply staring at her half empty glass of water.

They took Evelyn's car back and everything seemed muted. Dull. Colorless, just as it had been shortly after Matthew's death. Colorless, just as it was now... but for a second in that club, Mary had sworn everything had returned to full vibrancy.

Evelyn parked the car in front of Aunt Rosamund's. "I do hope you start feeling better soon," he told her with the utmost sincerity.

"Thank you, Evelyn," said Mary, truly grateful in spite of her melancholy. She reached for his hand. "You're a darling."

She knew the effect her words had on him and yet she didn't let go of his hand, even though she knew she should. She waited a moment or two until he met her eye, all his emotions coming to the surface and impossible to hide, looking at her in awe. Impulsively, she leaned forward, kissing him, and, without hesitation, he reciprocated.

It didn't feel the same, but it didn't stop Mary. She deepened the kiss, causing Evelyn to gasp, wishing she hadn't. He didn't sound right... His shoulders weren't broad enough, lips not what she was used to. Still, Mary was determined to drive it away, pulling him closer with almost bruising force.

It wasn't working. This didn't make her forget anything, only reminding her of what she would never have again. Mary broke off the kiss with a sob that she didn't realize had been gathering in the back of her throat.

"Mary?" Evelyn looked stunned yet concerned.

The shame was beginning to fester inside her. "I'm sorry." She had used him, toyed with his feelings... "I'm sorry," she repeated. "Just... I wanted to forget for one moment."

Evelyn looked somewhat hurt but nodded. "Take your time, Mary. There's no need to rush anything." He paused before saying, "In fact... even if there never is anything, I hope you know I will always regard you as a very dear friend."

Mary let out a humorless laugh, wishing she had a handkerchief. The tears were welling up in her eyes. "You're always so kind to me... Far more than I deserve."

"Everyone deserves some kindness."

That phrase sounded like something _he_ might have said, long before all the fighting began. "Thank you for the lovely time, even though I spoiled things," said Mary hastily, desperately needing to leave this car.

"You could never do that," Evelyn assured her. "Please... Go rest and start feeling better. And don't worry about me, please. I can handle it," He told her with a smile.

Mary returned it gratefully, knowing there was too much going on in her head to spend enough time devoted to worrying about poor Evelyn. Still, she was pleased that she waited long enough to break down into tears once she was safely in her room.

* * *

It was only a short while later before Mary paid another trip to London. She told Aunt Rosamund that it had to do with some estate business and left it at that. Dr. Ryder retained the utmost discretion, knowing she was a widow and not asking too many questions, quietly confirming her suspicions.

Mary returned to Downton, contemplative and reserved. She didn't know how to feel or what she was supposed to do...

All she knew was that she could no longer remain at Downton. Anna knew by now, she was fairly certain, but no one else had caught on yet, thank God.

It wasn't until Mary came to the nursery to see George that she found Edith in the rocking chair, balancing Marigold on her lap as she read her a story. Her sister stilled when Mary entered the room, seemed to rearrange herself and check every movement to make sure that she wasn't showing too much affection towards her own daughter.

Mary said nothing of it, merely picking up her son and announcing she was going to take him for a walk. She took him through the woods, down by the cottages, to that hill overlooking the estate, simultaneously trying to remember and forget at once. "All of this will be yours one day," she told him, well aware he could quite comprehend it just yet. "What do you think about that?"

George look up at her. "Everything?"

"Everything." She didn't tell him that it would be only become his when he was of age and his Grandpapa was gone. That was going to be a difficult conversation to have and at present, there was a heavier weight on her mind.

She waited until a few days had passed before all but cornering Edith in the hallway just before dinner. She stood behind a column, waiting for her to appear, before before out and grabbing her by the wrist. Edith was startled, eliciting a loud yelp.

"Mary, what—?"

"Be quiet," Mary said brusquely, desperation causing her to forget any of the manners Nanny had drilled into her as a young girl. She met her sister's wide eyes. "I need you to tell me how you did it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments!

**From Yorkshire to New York**

**Chapter Three**

It was strange, that Edith had become her unlikely confidant. They organized things quietly, careful not to arouse suspicion from the rest of the family. They made sure not to congregate when Mama and Papa were around, putting on a show of trading insults with one another when in actuality Edith was the only person Mary had entrusted with her secret.

"Will you tell Anna?"

Mary nodded. It was just a matter of when. She couldn't keep from her for long, especially when she knew her maid already suspected something was awry. She had been making little comments here and there, asking Mary if she was certain she was alright and whatnot. "I doubt she'll go with me, though, once I do leave." She hated leaving Bates behind for too long and Mary would never dream of asking her to leave him, not when she would inevitably be gone for some months.

Edith nodded. "It is hard... managing without someone when you are used to it, especially when you're that size." Her voice had taken on a different timbre. Mary could tell she was lost in a memory. "And I imagine it will be hard, not having someone you trust there with you... even for the sake of companionship."

"I won't be alone. I'll have Grandmama."

"Yes, but it's hardly as if we know her well," pointed out Edith.

"Well, I'm sure I'll get to know her better when I'm in New York."

Edith sighed. "It's not going to be easy. I hope you know that." And then, with a hint of bitterness, "It will be harder for you to pull it off, considering you were so hard on me about Marigold."

Mary hadn't thought of that. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

Edith was silent for a moment or two. "I wish you'd tell me whose baby it is."

"I know. But I'm not about to tell you." Edith had already demanded to know if it was Evelyn's when Mary confessed her secret in a hushed, panicked whisper and given how emotional and flustered she was, Mary had foolishly admitted it wasn't. Perhaps it would have better to have not done so, as then it would shroud it in even more mystery and keep suspicion from casting on _him_...

Not that Edith would ever guess it was him.

"Does he know, at least? The father?"

"No."

"You ought to tell him, whoever it is," said Edith, evidently annoyed. "Theres no sense in traveling across the ocean when you could tell him and he might marry you."

"Who says I want to marry him?" Mary said tightly, because she did not... not even if he asked. Not that he ever would, because he would never know. Ever.

"Shouldn't you have thought about that, before going to bed with him?"

"We didn't exactly make it to a bed."

Edith wrinkled her nose, grimacing. "Why must you be so crude?"

"You're the one sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. I thought you would appreciate the detail."

Edith shook her head, looking annoyed and faintly disgusted. Mary realized it was unwise, antagonizing her sister when she was the only one who will help her now. "Well, whoever he is, you clearly care enough about him to keep his child."

Mary's motions stilled. _Damn_. "It's my baby, too," she said finally, returning to her task.

"I'm not trying to pry—" Mary scoffed, "—but I do think you should tell him. It might make things easier. If Michael had been able to, I certainly would have."

"You're assuming he wants anything to do with me," said Mary, closing the doors to her wardrobe with a slam. It wasn't quite true; there had been that letter... but if Anna had been instructed to read it, she doubted there would be anything alluding to their brief affair.

"Was there no talk of love between the two of you?" Edith almost sounded scandalized.

Mary was quiet. There had been plenty of talk _before,_ about how much he loved them all as a family. Then there was letters about how he sent his _love..._ "Talk doesn't mean anything." Mary resumed her task. Actions spoke louder than words... especially louder than those words that had always been on the tip of her tongue even during their worst arguments, the trump card she had never played.

* * *

The announcement she was going to America took everyone by surprise. "But why?" Granny asked, easily the most mystified of them all.

"I need to get away for a while. I'm hoping New York will help me."

"Couldn't you have picked a better time?" Papa demanded. "We've the fair coming up, and with Tom gone—"

Mama noticed the way Mary flinched and interrupted her husband to say, "I thinks it's a good idea. Hopefully you'll start feeling more yourself." She glanced over to her husband. "I'm sure you can manage, and we can temporarily hire a new agent, can't we?"

Arrangements were made in short order. The plan was to say she would stay for three months, then stretch it out longer. Edith had tried persuading Mary to take George, insisting that she would miss him. "I know I will," said Mary, already regretting everything. "But he's young... and what if he were to say something when we returned? It isn't fair to expect him keep a secret of that magnitude."

Their goodbye was a tearful one. "I'll miss you very much, my darling boy," she assured him, kissing his head. She wished it would be possible to take him and somehow ensure her everything would remain safe... but she had made her bed. Now she must lie in it. "It won't be long," she tried telling him, but knowing it would feel like eons to them both.

* * *

It didn't take Grandmama long to figure out why her eldest granddaughter, who was more English than the king, had decided to stay with her. On the first night, she offered Mary some champagne, and when Mary politely declined, she shook her head. "So that's why you've come."

Mary froze. She had been hoping to prolong things, break it to her once she was more accustomed to New York and her grandmother's company, but she supposed there was no sense in denying it. She looked down at her lap. "You were going to let me stay here to ride out the storm before. I am hoping you'll allow me the opportunity to cash in that favor."

Grandmama nodded, somewhat weary. "Does Cora know?"

"Nobody knows, except for Edith."

"Edith?" Mary detected amusement in her grandmother's voice. "Well, now you'll have to explain everything."

Mary did, figuring there was no sense in hiding yet another great grandchild from Grandmama, who was more likely to forgive anyway. "So what is your plan, then?" She asked once Mary concluded it.

"I am going to say you and I went to an orphanage for some charity work and I saw the baby and wanted it for myself."

Grandmama sighed, shaking her head. "What's the point of it, Mary? Your parents seem to have accepted Edith and her little girl well enough... Why are you bothering with the pretense?" Mary said nothing. "Does it have anything to do with the baby's father?"

Mary's muscles tightened. "I can't bear the way they would look at me. That's all."

Grandmama sighed. "The only person who believes that, my dear, is you. That is, if you even believe it at all." She swirled her drink. "Let me tell you what I think: I think it's because this man is someone you shouldn't have been seeing." Mary looked away. "Maybe he's married, maybe he was just undesirable to your people, but you don't want them knowing about it, whoever he was." Grandmama seemed fairly confident, and she continued with, "I'll only take a minute to remind you that this will be his child, too. If they know who he is, there's a good chance they'll be able to guess."

"Then we had best hope it looks like me," said Mary, irate and in no mood to be lectured. "Thank you, Grandmama, for your hospitality and your discretion, but I think I shall retire."

When Mary reached her room, she collapsed on the bed, exhausted and fatigued. The conversation with Grandmama had been draining. Mary had a feeling New York wouldn't be a peaceful respite— it would simply be her safe haven the next few months.

* * *

For the most part, Grandmama let Mary do as she pleased. There was a flexibility that she was allowed that she hadn't truly had in England, an anonymity in a huge city like New York. While she enjoyed it every now and again, she spent most of her time in Grandmama's home.

"You ought to go out," urged Grandmama. "You're young and there'll come a point in time where you won't be leaving this house much at all, so you might as well live while you can."

But Mary had little desire to go to parties held by people she didn't know or venture into speakeasies to watch people drink. She instead spent evenings in Grandmama's library, paging through thick tomes until her eyes grew tired or listening to records.

She exchanged letters with her family, never disclosing her real reasoning. Edith would inquire after her and Mary did her best to answer her questions without giving anything away, writing things like _I am in good health_ and _Little has happened yet, but I know it is a matter of time._ The last thing she needed was for anyone back home to suspect anything in the event Edith was careless and left it out for anyone to read.

* * *

Mary's condition was still easily concealed by a larger dress, but she inspected herself carefully, marveling at herself at the small bump before Klein came to dress her in the morning. Though she had noticed the gradual changes to her body, Mary found that things were starting to be a little more obvious now. The nightgowns from home, which she still wore, did little good to hide it.

"Happy birthday, dear Mary," Grandmama said when she joined her downstairs for breakfast. She presented Mary with a gift, a new novel that she thought Mary might enjoy, with the comment she would fly through it quickly given how much reading she was doing lately.

The rest of the morning remained uneventful... until Grandmama's butler Olsen arrived into the parlor, a bouquet of roses in his hand. "This arrived for you earlier, Lady Mary."

"Oh?" Grandmama's interest was piqued. "Who's it from?"

"It doesn't say," Olsen replied as Mary accepted it, finding a small card hidden amongst the flowers.

 _Happy birthday, Mary. I am sorry I cannot be there to celebrate with you just yet, but I'll be there soon_.

"How fascinating," Grandmama said, eyes twinkling. "It seems you have a secret admirer."

"Unlikely," said Mary, certain she knew no one in New York who would address her so familiarly to call her _Mary_. She checked the back of the card to ascertain an identity but had no luck. "It must be someone from home who's forgot to add their name."

Grandmama didn't seem convinced, but Mary had bigger problems to sort out. The _just yet_ worried her; were Mama and Papa planning on visiting? Had Edith sent it? Either way, the last thing she needed was a surprise visit from Mama or Papa. Knowing Grandmama's attitude, she would try to bully Mary into telling them about the baby.

She popped out mid afternoon in order to send a telegram to Edith, demanding to know who had sent her the bouquet, so that she might have a warning of some kind of who to anticipate.

Grandmama greeted her at the door when she returned, beaming and looking exceptionally pleased. "Oh good," she said excitedly. "You're back. I have a surprise waiting for you."

"A surprise?"

"Well, I'll admit, I didn't coordinate it... but it seems you have a very special guest."

Special guest? Dread sank in. "Grandmama—"

But Grandmama refused to listen to her protests, practically shoving Mary down the hallway. She flung the drawing room open, allowing a stunned Mary to stagger in through the door... Only for her to freeze in place.

Tom rose from the armchair, a smile on his face. "Hello, Mary. Happy birthday."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments and for sharing some of your theories with me! Some of your questions will be answered here!

**From Yorkshire to New York**

**Chapter Four**

It had taken plenty of coaxing from Grandmama to get her back into the drawing room. "What's he done that is so terrible?" she asked as Mary tearfully demanded she throw him out. "The last time I was in England, you two were as thick as thieves!"

"We had a falling out," said Mary, unwilling to elaborate further.

"Over what?"

"He left."

"Well, now he's back. I would think you would be pleased, if you were truly upset about him going away in the first place."

It made sense logically but Grandmama wasn't in possession of all the facts. Mary's jaw tightened. Grandmama sighed. "He's come all this way for your birthday. You ought to at least give him a chance."

Mary didn't want to give him anything... but standing in the hallways whisper-fighting with Grandmama wasn't getting her anywhere. She was nearly as a stubborn as Mary.

Tom was as well... but Mary knew him better. And she knew what to do and what to say in order to drive him away. After all, she had done so well enough last time without even trying, she thought bitterly. It was a shame the pregnancy was more visible now; all it would have taken was seducing him again for him to head for the hills.

She composed herself, putting on dismissive, aloof air, not allowing her true self through. She reentered the parlor with her shoulders back and head held high.

Tom was standing near the window, overlooking the busy streets of Manhattan. When he saw it was her, his face broke out into a wide grin. "I didn't know if you'd come back."

It was funny he should say that, when she had been convinced he wouldn't ever be back in her life. She didn't acknowledge his statement, barely looking at him, both to cement an illusion of disinterest and because she knew if she dared let her eyes linger, she wouldn't be able to stop. Even though months had passed, Mary found she was still affected by his presence. "Who told you I was here?"

"Your parents... and Edith." Mary wanted to scream. How like her sister, to ruin things for her, even with an ocean separating them. "She said she was worried you would be lonely, so she gave me your grandmother's address."

"She shouldn't have bothered," said Mary cooly, taking a seat in an arm chair. "I'm doing well enough on my own."

"I can see that." With surprise, her gaze turned to him. His eyes were roaming over her carefully. A paranoid part of her worried that he would be able to see the ever so slight changes to her body. "You look lovely."

Mary's heart beat faster in her chest. _Damn it._ "New York seems an awfully long way to travel from Ireland." Her gaze averted to her knees.

"I take it you didn't bother reading my letter, then."

"I didn't think it contained anything important, so I destroyed it." She completed her statement with a smile, daring to look at him. He didn't look surprised, though he was somewhat disappointed.

He sighed. "I thought you might. But I figured it was worth a shot." He finally took a seat as well. "I wasn't in Ireland for long. I stayed with my mother for a month before leaving for America. I wanted to return to Downton but... Well, I've been working for my cousin in Boston for a month or so." There was a pause before he said, "I've been selling cars and farm machinery."

"I see. And how are you planning to sell farm machinery to the people of Boston all the way from New York?"

"I've left." There was an earnestness in his eyes. "Mary, I—"

"Where's Sybbie?" She interrupted, not wanting to hear what he had to say. She couldn't bear to listen to him going on and on about how he missed their friendship or that he had missed her... it would only serve to make things harder and more painful for her. "You didn't leave her behind in Boston, did you?"

"Of course I didn't." For the first time since starting the conversation, he truly sounded offended. She was glad to have struck and nerve and yet a reflexive part of her was recoiling at having upset him. "She's just with your grandmother's maid." Tom hesitated before asking, "Would you like to see her?"

Mary knew saying _yes_ would cause her resolve to remain hardened and careless to crumble, but she couldn't say _no_ , either. Not when it came to Sybbie. "I would."

Soon Sybbie was downstairs standing before Mary, smiling and hugging her. It took a bit of maneuvering on Mary's part, as she tried to ensure Sybbie wouldn't brush against her abdomen. She doubted she would even notice but Mary knew she needed to play it safe. "When did you get so big?" asked Mary, astonished at how much taller her niece seemed already. Sybbie only giggled in response.

Through it all, Mary fixated on only her niece. It was still easy to convince herself that she hadn't missed Tom, but it was impossible to pretend she hadn't missed Sybbie. Mary had went from seeing her every single day from the day of her birth... When she had been at Downton, there were times where she had been half convinced Sybbie would appear, running down the hallway and laughing, looking so much like Sybil...

But seeing Sybbie reminded her of her son and opened up the scab over her heart, especially when Sybbie asked, "Where's George?"

"He's at Downton, darling," said Mary. Much to her horror, her eyes began filling with tears. For over a month now, she had suppressed every thought of her son, only for the floodgates to open now. Though they only spent an hour or so a day together, that time was precious. She thought of the tears she had hid, the quiet sadness that lingered over him when she told him she was going away for awhile, looking so much like Matthew...

Sybbie's expression became concerned as Mary frantically tried reining back her tears. Before she had a chance to compose herself, Tom was saying, "Sybbie, why don't you go find Grandma Martha?"

Mary couldn't look up when Sybbie toddled away, wiping her eyes. She looked down at the floor when Tom knelt down and joined her on the floor. "Why aren't you at Downton, Mary?" he asked quietly. "Why are you here, in New York, of all places? You used to scoff about America all the time... And why isn't George here with you?"

She wouldn't answer his first question. She couldn't give the excuses she had given Mama and Papa... He would see right through them. She took in a deep breath, steadying herself before meeting his eyes, imperious as ever. "I didn't want to tear him away from another one of his cousins. I didn't think it was fair to do that to a child."

She had wounded him. She could see the hurt written all over his face. A traitorous part of her immediately felt guilty, longing to soothe his pain, but she reminded herself that this was for the best. Instead of responding with anger, Tom let out a sigh. "Mary, I'm sorry." The words hung in the air. "I know I hurt you, and I don't think you know how much I regret it."

Mary could see where this was headed; he was looking for reconciliation, to take things back to what they had once been. Well... it was too late for that. "Don't worry, Tom. I know plenty about regret." She met his eyes, cold as ice, before rising to her feet and leaving.

* * *

Though she was still furious with him, though her blood still boiled whenever he was in her presence, it was like Mary couldn't bring herself to be away from him for long. He was seated across from her at dinner, with Grandmama inviting him to stay with her as long as he wanted. Mary was internally screaming but when Grandmama turned to her and said, "That is, unless Mary has any objections?"

Mary knew she should have insisted that, yes, as a matter of fact, she did object, but the words were like lead on the tip of her tongue. She settled for an artless shrug and carried on with her meal, listening to Grandmama and Tom talk about Boston and life since leaving Downton.

Grandmama dismissed herself early, claiming she was tired, but Mary knew better. The old woman stayed up later than her most nights, reading or listening to her records. Mary watched her retreating figure enviously, wishing she had thought to craft a headache so that it might be her leaving instead.

"You've been quiet this evening," Tom said once they were alone. When she didn't respond, he prompted her with, "What have you been up to since coming to New York?"

"Not much at all."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"And what do you know about me?" She tilted her head to the side, challenging him.

Tom was struck silent for a moment before leaning forward. "I know plenty." The words, though innocent, sent a thrill though her. She wondered if he would reference their night together only for him to say, "You're my best friend, Mary."

"Funny," she drawled without much thought, ignoring the tears stinging behind her eyes. "That's not how I treat friends."

Tom's face crumpled, shoulders falling. Mary felt sick. "You know I'm sorry." She said nothing again, forcing herself to look away from him, focussing instead on the brick fireplace. "And— And I understand if you aren't willing to forgive me, but... Can we at least have a drink? Like the old times?" He was pleading with her now. Mary looked over to him.

Their eyes locked and Mary was remembering evenings in the library again, sitting much too close on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. She remembered their hands brushing together as he passed her the glass of whiskey, diluted with water, but it always tasted better when it was on his lips...

"I can't." Mary rose to her feet, moving to the door. The fact she was tempted spoke volumes, but she wasn't about to admit it... or let him know exactly why she shouldn't be indulging in alcohol.

"Mary— Mary, wait—" Before she could twist the door knob, Tom reached out, his hand holding her wrist. If she wanted to, she could easily shake it off, twist open the door and leave, but his touch kept her rooted in place. "I made a mistake. I'm sorry." She let her eyes fall shut. "But I've missed you so much these past couple of months..." He trailed off, sounding close to tears. "Please tell me what I can do to make it up to you."

There was one thing... but she couldn't ask him that. She was much too proud and she couldn't bear the thought of forcing him into something he clearly didn't want. As loath as she was to admit it, she cared for him too much to subject him to a marriage that he never asked for. "There's nothing you can do," she managed to choke out, and then she fled the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! Someone over FFN brought up a good point, which is that Mary is consciously avoiding drinking in this story even though during the canon era, women did not avoid alcohol whilst pregnant, as it wasn't discovered until later that it could have harmful effects.

**From Yorkshire to New York**

**Chapter Five**

Mary's assurances did nothing to shake Tom off. He continued to exploit Grandmama's hospitality and contributed nothing but being a continual thorn in Mary's side.

"He cannot stay here," she insisted to Grandmama just before dinner on Tom's second evening in New York.

"Why not? He's your friend, isn't he?" Grandmama straightened her necklace. "And any rate, I don't think he should go. You finally seem more yourself with him here."

"So you think my natural state is being miserable?" countered Mary, aghast by what her grandmother was insinuating.

Grandmama shook her head. "You finally seem alive again." She gave Mary a smile. "Since he's been here, you're not busy hiding yourself away."

Mary sighed. "Even if what you are saying is true, he can't stay. It won't be too long now before I start properly showing." When she wore her nightgown at night, her condition was obvious. It was the only time Mary didn't bother covering it up.

Grandmama froze. She turned around slowly. "You mean he doesn't know?"

Mary shook her head. "I can't have any of them knowing. I only told Edith because I knew she would help and she knew what to do."

"Mary, truly you don't believe that young man would judge you? He clearly has missed you and wants to spend as much time with you as he possibly can!"

Mary said nothing, looking down at the duvet. "It's too big a risk," she finally said. He would know what no else ever would be able to know.

Grandmama sighed. "Very well. I'll tell him he can stay with us the rest of the week and unless you change your mind, I'll make sure he's gone."

"Thank you."

* * *

On the third day of Tom's intrusion, Mary cursed when her maid, Miss Klein, reminded her she had a appointment with Dr. Rosenthal. "That's right. I completely forgot." With all the excitement surrounding Tom and Sybbie, it had slipped her mind. "Thank you, Klein."

"It's no problem, milady," she said, with only the slightest German accent. Mary didn't know much about the woman, both due to her own lack of inquiries and because Klein was rather shy. Still, she was invaluable to Mary in the sense that she remembered things when Mary forgot and concealed her secret.

"You're awfully dressed up," remarked Tom, meeting her at the bottom of the stairwell, hands folded behind his back and wearing a grin. Then, as if correcting himself, he added, "You look nice."

Mary knew she shouldn't respond, but it didn't stop her from tersely saying, "I'm going out."

"Where to? I'll drive you."

"That's not necessary."

"I know. But I'd like to."

"Really? I didn't know we were all supposed to cater your whims!" She said sarcastically, plastering a fake smile on her face. "Have you even bothered to ask Grandmama to use her car?"

"I have, as a matter of fact," Tom said, smiling. "I need to use it for some personal business. She's given her chauffeur the day off. So unless you want to walk or catch a cab..."

She stared at him, astonished and bewildered at his gall. "Fine," she spat, rolling her eyes and brushing past him.

It was dangerous but Mary nevertheless climbed into the backseat, rattling off the address to him. There were several offices in the building and it was unlikely he would figure out exactly which doctor she was going to see, if he even bothered paying attention to where she was going.

The one bright spot to the whole affair was Sybbie. She sat in the backseat with Mary, asking her all sorts of questions about Downton. Mary answered them as best as she could, doing her best to ignore the indulgent smiles Tom kept gracing her with when the traffic stopped.

"What time should I pick you up?" Tom asked. Before Mary could decline, Tom said, "I was planning on taking Sybbie around the city. I figured you would know more about it than me."

Damn him for invoking the name of her niece. "I don't know. Meet me here in an hour or so," said Mary casually.

"Sounds good to me," Tom told her with a smile before driving off. Mary sighed as the vehicle pulled away. Why had she agreed to it? She was flirting with danger... Each time she let him too close, she was inviting the possibility of everything blowing up in her face most spectacularly and her own feelings would be further injured in the process. Mary stared after the car, cursing her own sentimentality, then turned to go inside.

Dr. Rosenthal wasn't Dr. Ryder but he was a professional all the same. He assured her all was as it should be. "You've a healthy baby, Mrs. Crawley," he informed her, eyes crinkling behind his golden rimmed glasses.

Mary beamed, relieved. In some ways, she had tried desperately not to think of her baby, but right now she couldn't pretend she wasn't incredibly pleased and proud. "That's just what every mother wants to hear," she said with a smile.

It took ten minutes or so before Tom and Sybbie showed up again but when they did, her niece made her excitement known. "Sorry," Tom apologized, opening the door up for her. "I tried to hurry. The traffic in this city is hell."

Mary didn't dignify him with a response. If it was just the two of them, she might have been all biting sarcasm but it wasn't right to argue in front of Sybbie. Instead, she focused on her niece. As much as she was counting down the days until Tom would be gone and she wouldn't need to fret any longer, she wasn't looking forward to saying goodbye to Sybbie. Would she ever see her again?

"Do you mind if we go sightseeing?" asked Tom from the front. "I promised Sybbie we'd go exploring but I'm afraid I don't know the city that well... and I figured you might be a good tour guide, since you've been here awhile."

"I haven't exactly done much exploring myself," she replied, shoulders pushed back. "So I'll be a poor tour guide..." She was ready to decline, but remembered it was for Sybbie. "But I'm not busy this afternoon, so I suppose I can come along."

In the end, they spent most of their day in Central Park. Sybbie chased after ducks and they walked along the paths. As she ran ahead of them, Mary realized it was going to be increasingly difficult to ignore Tom entirely. She tried to keep her gaze trained ahead on her darling niece, but felt his eyes watching her.

"Let's stop here," Tom said as they approached a large fountain. There was an empty bench nearby, which he sat on. She was going to remain standing to maintain some distance until Tom said, "Have a seat, Mary. I promise I won't bite."

Mary gritted her teeth but sat by him nevertheless, not in the mood for an argument... well, at least not with Sybbie present. She didn't want the little girl's last memories of her tinged with unpleasantness... and truth be told, her feet were killing her.

"Can I make a wish in the fountain, Daddy?" asked Sybbie, running up to him.

Tom smiled indulgently, reaching into his pockets. "Alright," he agreed, managing to produce a penny. He ruffled her hair, causing her to laugh. As she scampered off, he stared after her, smiling. Something inside Mary softened. Imagination running away with her, she wondered what it would be like, having him watch after the child inside her with that same look... before remembering such a thing was impossible.

"How has everyone at Downton been?"

Mary shrugged. "The same as usual... but you keep in regular contact with them, so you should be well aware."

Tom sighed. "Mary... You've every right to be upset with me—"

"You're damn right I do," she interrupted without hesitation.

"—and you can be angry with me as long as you like... but I'm here now so that I can say I'm sorry. And... and because if Edith's letters are to be believed, you've missed me as much as I missed you."

"So not at all?"

"She overheard you telling George you missed me, so I know that can't be true," Tom shot back, almost smugly.

Flustered, Mary felt her cheeks growing pink. "Well, I had to tell him that, didn't I?"

"She told me there's a reason you're here... and she didn't want you to be on your own." She felt his eyes trained on her. "She didn't tell me why, but I know it must be something dire." Mary refused to look at him until he said softly, "I want to help you, Mary. I'll do whatever I can."

"You've done more than enough," she said venomously, thinking of how it was his fault she was in the predicament she was in.

But it wasn't quite true, was it? Because she had been just as willing to cast aside all the rules in favor of fulfilling her desires. She had been just as enthusiastic as he, if not more, in their brief affair. She had wanted him to stay, hoped he would change his mind, especially after their night together...

She had been foolish to think that. She should have known he would leave her. They always did. Even Matthew, who was supposed to be hers forever, had left her behind.

Realizing her words pointed to the truth of the matter, Mary added, "And I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don't need you."

"I know that," said Tom, leaning forward on the bench. "You've always been strong. I just— Well, whatever it is, I don't want you to feel you have to take it on alone." After a pause, he admitted, "I'm worried about you."

Worried about her? "You didn't care about me a couple of months ago," she said, tone acidic, though she could hardly believe it had only been a few months... it had felt like so much longer...

"You're wrong." Those two words caused her to look straight at him for the first time they say down. Tom was serious, eyes locked with hers. "I cared too much. That's why I had to leave."

 _Cared._ Past tense. Mary hadn't realized it was possible for the pain to increase anymore. Unable to sit here and pretend all was well, she rose to her feet. "We ought to be going. It's time I get home."

* * *

Mary ate in her room that night, picking at her meal. She hadn't wanted to admit it to herself, but a part of her had been stupidly hanging onto some fantasy where Tom would proclaim that he had been wrong, that he never should have left Downton, that he wanted to be with her... but having that dream shattered in the park opened up a wound that had never had the chance to heal.

Klein collected her tray of mostly uneaten food and helped her dress for bed. Mary stared down at her protruding stomach once her nightgown was on. "Thank you, Klein," she said, examining herself in the mirror.

Once she was alone with her thoughts, Mary immediately felt the regret sink in fully... not necessarily for the consequences she might face, but the ones her baby certainly would. This baby wouldn't grow up with the same opportunities as George, nor would she ever be able to acknowledge it as her own. For his or her whole life, things would be markedly different. No one would understand how much she loved this child. She would have to tread a fine line, playing the game much like Edith. Neither the baby nor George could know the truth, until they were older, if Mary ever chose to do so... though perhaps it would prove simpler if she pretended it was some poor little orphan she had taken pity on one day.

Mary sighed. Knowing her luck, this baby would emerge from her womb a boy who looked like Tom in every way, just like George resembled Matthew. There would be nothing to distinguish her the mother and everyone would know... but at least she could try. She wasn't about to abandon her child.

There was a knock at the door. Klein must have forgotten something... "Come in," she called out.

The door opened and Mary saw his reflection in the mirror. She turned around quickly without a second thought, panicked. "Wait—"

"Mary, I—" The words died in Tom's throat, gaze fixed on her rounded stomach.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments!

**From Yorkshire to New York**

**Chapter Six**

Mary didn't wake up until long after the sun had risen, light streaming in through the parted curtains and bathing them both in a golden light. The feeling of fingers threading through and playing with her hair caused her eyes to open.

Tom stared back at her, a contemplative look on his face. "Good morning. Did I wake you?" His hand began withdrawing.

Mary shook her head. "It feels nice," she said, looking away from his face to study the top button of his pajamas. She relaxed as his hands returned to her hair again, letting out a contented sigh.

The night before had been full of revelations and tears from the both of them. After informing Tom that no, his eyes weren't deceiving him, he had broken down, apologizing profusely. She had been horrified by his reaction, ill-equipped to dealing with people crying even at the best of times, but seeing Tom in such a state had her all out of sorts. She hadn't seen him this upset since Sybil died.

"No wonder you hate me," he lamented after having lowered himself to edge of her bed, mostly composed now. "I've gone and ruined your life."

The walls Mary had built up on the shaky foundation began crumbing. Seeing him like this was too much for her to bear. Besides— why bother with the presence now? Her secret was found out; there was nothing more to protect from. "Don't flatter yourself— you've hardly ruined my life. You've just made things a little inconvenient, that's all." And then, peering at him through her eyelashes, she added, "And you're wrong. I could never despise you."

He glanced up. "You've done a good impression of it."

"I have, haven't I?" She agreed, sitting beside him. She stared down at her lap. "I didn't want to burden you. I was upset, yes, but I wanted to drive you away. Then you wouldn't feel obligated to— obligated to—"

"To what?"

"Marry me."

"Why would it be a burden? To marry you?"

She glanced up. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not always the easiest to get along with." It was said with enough glibness that he managed a soft chuckle, in spite of his obvious distress. "And— and you've made things clear. About where we stand." Nervous and unable to look at him, "And we still don't need to. I can carry on with my plan. I won't keep you away from the baby now that you know, though we may need to be careful, if we don't want to arouse suspicion."

"What plan?"

So she told him. He sat, silent and impassive, only speaking once she was through. "I'm so sorry, Mary. I never should have left." Before she could say anything, he said, "I wish to God I never had."

"What about what you said? About... about caring too much?"

"Since when has loving someone been a bad thing?" She was rendered silent, taken aback. The sincerity in his eyes caused her heart rate to increase.

"What?" Mary was startled when she realized that she had finally spoken.

"I love you," Tom told her. Mary stared at him yet. Was this real? It didn't seem that way... She prepared herself to wake up any moment from whatever dream she was having but that moment never came. "I know I've had a bloody odd way of showing it, but..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. "Do you remember how it was? At the start?"

Mary didn't have to strain her memory back, for it was those times she relived most, when she allowed herself to. Despite the secrecy, despite the illicitness of it all, it had been the happiest Mary had felt since Matthew's death. She remembered how conflicted she felt, how he would whisper, " _We can't_ ," in between kisses, before pressing her up against a wall, how her mind tried to remind her of all the reasons they shouldn't be doing this even when it felt so _right._ So she nodded in response.

Tom averted his gaze to his knees. "It's safe to say I wasn't... I wasn't seeing things for what they were. I thought that... Well, I hadn't been able to even think of another woman in that way since Sybil and I knew you were missing Matthew... and I managed to convince myself that we were lonely and trying to fill that void."

Mary's brow furrowed. It hadn't felt that way to her, even when she was sitting there trying to tell herself that what they were doing was wrong. She had been concerned about the propriety of things and how it looked, more concerned by that then examining precisely why they had been drawn to one another. It hadn't been hard for her to acknowledge that in addition to being a decent man with whom she had easily befriended, he was good looking as well.

"But I was wrong. And I was scared when I couldn't stop thinking about you, even when we were apart," confessed Tom, words running together. "There was so much at Downton to remind me of Sybil that I started to feel guilty. It felt like I was trying to replace her with her sister and I felt like I had to get away. But all of the fighting with you did nothing to change how I felt. And when I saw you flirting and dancing with that Talbot fellow and I couldn't hardly stand it," Tom continued on, sounding agonized. "It was wrong of me, for so many reasons, but that night I wanted you so badly, so I ignored that voice in my head that told me not to take things further. When I woke up in the morning I was more terrified than ever, because I realized I still wanted you." He shook his head before saying, "I really thought that by going away, I could get rid of my feelings... but I had only been in Ireland a month or so before I realized they'd only grown stronger and that I missed you more that I ever thought I could. So I sent that letter and I asked you if you wanted me to come back. If there was a point to me even returning."

"And then I ripped it up," Mary said, inwardly chastising herself for being so thoughtless and foolish. No doubt a number of problems could have been averted had she simply overcome her pride long enough to hear him out.

"I thought you might do something like that," Tom told her, sounding utterly defeated. "That's why I told Anna to read it, too. In case you did want to hear me out eventually... but when there was nothing, I figured I had ruined everything, so we left for Boston."

"I told her not to tell me," explained Mary quietly. "I was quite angry."

"As you should have been," said Tom miserably. He shook his head. "I don't blame you at all, Mary. I deserve it all and more. I only decided come here because Edith said you missed me and I thought maybe I stood a chance to fix it. I knew I had made a mess of things, but I didn't realize to what degree. I understand why you would want nothing to do with me."

Mary studied him carefully, noting just how despaired he looked. She would deny that she wasn't still hurt, a modicum of residual anger still lurking inside her, but what hurt more in that moment was seeing him so upset. Had this happened earlier in the day, Mary would have cursed herself for being weak. But now, all Mary could think about was his confession: _I love you._ She thought of their child growing inside her. She thought of how all she had wanted was this... and how senseless it would be, to deprive all three of them happiness when it was easily within her grasp.

"But I do want you," Mary told him, deciding it was best to be honest. "I always did. I was convinced you didn't want me."

Tom faced her again, wearing a regretful, sad expression. "I do," he whispered, as if he couldn't speak any louder. "You have no idea how much. It took me leaving the country and learning a few hard lessons to realize it but I love you, Mary. I'm sure you wouldn't believe it, given the way I've treated you, but I do."

Mary met his eyes. It still sounded unbelievable to her ears, considering how many months of arguing and absence had seemed to prove otherwise, but the truth was in his eyes. "I do believe you." She maneuvered herself so that she laying down, thoroughly exhausted. She patted the empty space beside her.

Tom gave her a confused look. "What about your maid?"

"She won't come until I ring for her. And... and I should very much like to spend the night in your arms." She felt a blush rising to her cheeks as she said it, unused to such a candor... especially with him, when there had been so many secrets between them.

Thankfully, however, her words seemed to have done the trick. Tom laid down beside her, their eyes meeting as an understanding passed between them. There was still so much to talk about, so much to discuss, things were nowhere near settled... but for right now, they needed sleep and comfort. Mary turned out the lamp, plunging to room into darkness, and curled up next to him.

Now, in the light of day, things seemed brighter— literally and metaphorically. "This is nice," murmured Tom, voice soft.

Mary hummed, shifting closer to him. "Much nicer than the backseat of a car, isn't it?" She teased.

Apparently it was too soon to make jokes. Tom's face darkened, hand reaching out to touch her stomach. "I'm sorry." His voice was hoarse— from sleep or because he was choked up, Mary couldn't tell. "I've been such a cad."

Mary's hand slid over his. "I won't have you speaking ill of yourself," she said seriously. "We'll get nowhere if you just insult yourself."

Tom nodded, Adam's apple bobbing. "I'll do my best. I promise." Even so, he let out a sigh and said, "I just can't help but regret it."

"I don't." Tom drew away to look at her better. "I wish it could have happened under better circumstances... but I'm not sorry it happened." Not now, at least. A few days ago, she might have been more inclined to agree with him. As things were now, she was content and hopeful.

Tom smiled— it didn't quite reach his eyes, but she was pleased to see it nonetheless. "Maybe regret isn't the best word to use," he amended. "But I wish... I wish it had been somewhere a little more respectable. I could have at least taken you to a proper bed."

Mary couldn't help but smile, even though it seemed a little naïve to think they could have found a bed for some rendezvous without being caught. "I'm afraid not many would view us as respectable, no matter where we were," she said. It was sad fact, but unfortunately quite true. In the world they lived in, no one was going to be enthusiastic about a woman engaging in a torrid love affair her widowed brother-in-law, especially not when it resulted in a child.

"Maybe not," agreed Tom, sounding sad.

"So," she began, shifting the topic, "what happens now?"

Tom only thought about it for a second or two. "Well... I think that we should marry. As soon as we possibly can." Mary's eyes widened, though she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised after their conversation last night. "We should send for George as well... but we can do that before the wedding. I'd like him to be there. And then we'll live here until the baby is born. With everyone in England, we can tell them the baby was born premature and we'll go home once he or she is big enough so they won't suspect otherwise."

Mary stared at him in amazement. It was a genius idea... "That's quite brilliant. I think it might be even better than the plan I concocted." He was watching her carefully, eager, and Mary realized she hadn't technically given him a response yet. "But I won't say yes unless you get down on one knee."

Tom let out a bark of laughter, evidently surprised. Mary merely grinned as he scrambled out of the bed. The sheets got tangled up in his legs as he hurried out and Mary crawled so she was facing him. She found his earnest expression waiting for her. "Will you marry me?"

Mary beamed. "Yes," she whispered.

A laugh escaped him as they smiled at one another, giddy with excitement. Their hands sought out one another and Tom, who was still kneeling on the floor, then asked nervously, "May I kiss you?"

"Hmm. I don't know. I'm not sure how proper it would be," Mary said with an arched eyebrow, though it was impossible to stop herself from smirking.

Tom looked at her in confusion before realizing she was teasing him. "I'd say we've already crossed that line," he said before leaning in to capture her lips with his.

Mary let her eyes fall closed, relishing in the sensation. It was hard to believe two months had passed since she had enjoyed this particular pleasure... how had she survived it? It was akin to bliss, being able to touch him and kiss him again, just as she had secretly longed to all those months ago.

When they parted, they were both smiling and a little out of breath. Hands still on either side of his face, she allowed herself for the first time to admire him unashamedly. _Her fiancé..._

But the thrill was replaced quickly by something else. "This is not going to be easy."

"No," said Tom, quickly coming to same realization. "It's not." He reached up, taking one of her hands away from his face.

"I forgive you," she said quietly, gazing down at their intertwined hands, "but things aren't settled yet."

Tom nodded. "I don't know if I deserve it. Your forgiveness."

"Have I earned yours?" When Tom glanced up with a look of confusion, Mary elaborated, "I was planning on never telling you about your child."

Tom shook his head, bringing her hand to his lips. "I left you and moved away to another country. You had no idea if you would ever see me again. I don't blame you." She was surprised by his words. She had at least expected a modicum of resentment, some residual tension. She wasn't so sure she could forgive so easily in his position. "If anything, I'm in awe that you were willing to go through such lengths."

Mary simply smiled. "I'm glad I don't have to now." She thought about voicing those fears that had plagued her just last night before deciding against it. It would do neither of them any good to dwell on what might have been. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him yet again, deciding to embrace what was.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kind comments!

**From York to New York**

**Chapter Seven**

Sybbie was the first to learn about their engagement and easily the most excited. "Are you really?" She exclaimed loudly, looking back and forth between them from her place on Mary's lap. Before either them could answer, she was throwing her arms around Mary, causing a startled laugh to leave her.

"Sybbie, be gentle!" Tom scolded, more sharply than he normally was with his beloved daughter. Mary was confused by it until she realized he was thinking of their baby.

"She's alright," she assured him gently, placid and looking down at Sybbie. "You're only excited, aren't you, dear?"

Sybbie nodded with enthusiasm.

"We'll need to tell Grandmama next," said Mary as they trailed behind Sybbie on their way to breakfast. "And I suppose we'll need to give some consideration to where we might live after the wedding so we don't infringe upon her hospitality." And, she thought, so they could be afforded some privacy.

"Well, I've already gotten a start on that." When Mary gave him a shocked look, Tom replied, "What did you think Sybbie and I were doing yesterday while you were at your thing?"

"You know, I really didn't give it much thought," said Mary, pleasantly surprised. "I was a little too concerned with my appointment to really pay much attention." At the word _appointment_ , Tom gave her a questioning look. Mary smiled and nodded in response.

"And it was... all is well?"

"All is just as it should be," she assured him as they began walking down the steps. She paused before asking, "Why were you looking for places in New York?"

"After your grandmother informed me I was to leave in a few days time, I thought I'd best find myself a permanent residence in the city." Then, with a shy sort of smile, "There was no way I was going to be able to woo you all the way from Boston, now was I?"

Mary grinned. "So you didn't come here so we could revitalize our friendship?" she asked as they reached the bottom of the steps.

"No." Tom was clearly amused. "Is that what you thought?" When she said nothing, giving her answer away, he said, "I wanted to build up our friendship again before easing back into a perfectly respectable courtship which would eventually lead to a proposal."

Mary's heart beat faster, which seemed silly since they were already engaged. "What a relief we don't have to wait nearly that long," she remarked, causing him to laugh as they entered the dining room.

Any formal announcement of their news was ruined as Sybbie excited ran over to Grandmama, eagerly exclaiming, "Grandma Martha, did you know Daddy and Mary are getting married?"

Mary and Tom froze. Perhaps they should have talked to her about keeping things quiet...

Grandmama was stunned. She lifted up her head, looking at them before turning back to her great granddaughter. "I didn't know that, no," she said in a happy voice, though Mary knew it was manufactured for the benefit of Sybbie. "Why don't the three of you tell me all about it?"

Tom thankfully decided to fill her in, skimming over motivations or when they had reached this decision, simply informing her on their plans. All throughout, Grandmama put on a veneer of polite interest, all the while engaging in a silent conversation with Mary, asking her questions that could not be answered in the presence of Sybbie or Olsen. "We were just discussing our plans on finding a place to move into after the wedding," said Tom, shifting the conversation.

"Oh?" Grandmama looked surprised. "So you aren't planning on returning to Downton right away?"

"Not right away," said Mary smoothly. "We want a chance to adjust to our new life together before settling back into life at Downton."

Grandmama nodded. "Oh. Well, how nice."

"As a matter of fact, I've a few appointments to check out some flats." He glanced over at Mary. "I don't suppose you would like to join me?"

Grandmama answered for her. "I'm afraid I actually need Mary this afternoon. I need her help on something and I'm afraid it can't be delayed." She smiled before turning to her breakfast.

Mary turned to Tom. "Perhaps I can come along some other time. You know what I like, so I trust your judgement in finding something suitable."

Tom smiled at her and the meal continued. When they mentioned George coming to stay with them, Sybbie grew even more enthused than she already was, eager to see him again. However, Mary's excitement was dampened considerably when Tom and Sybbie left to go flat-hunting.

Grandmama waited until they were safely alone in the parlor to begin interrogating her. "You seem to have resolved whatever problems you had with him."

Mary eased herself down onto the sofa. "We have for the most part, yes," agreed Mary. She didn't need to know specifics; that was between them.

Grandmama smiled. "I trust I no longer need to send him packing now?" When Mary smiled, shaking her head, she said, "Good." She crossed her legs. "Does he know, then?" She didn't even need to clarify what she was referring to.

"Yes. He does."

Grandmama nodded. "That's good." She gave Mary a warm smile. "I don't need to tell you that your family won't be nearly as enthused as Miss Sybbie is, but I think the two of you are doing the right thing. He's a good man... and it's going to save you plenty of headaches by having a husband once you welcome your little bundle of joy."

Mary couldn't quite tell if Grandmama knew about Tom being the father or not, but she decided to not broach the subject. She didn't really feel like discussing the peculiarities of their relationship. If she point blank asked, Mary wouldn't lie to her, but she wasn't about willingly offer up the information, either. "I know."

—

_Dear Edith,_

_It seems I will be staying in America longer than even we originally planned. I've found another solution. I know it is an inconvenience and for that I am sorry, but would you please accompany George to_ _America? You were right; being without him is too hard for me to bear._

_Love,_

_Mary_

_P.S. Before you ask, yes, you can bring Marigold too._

It was short, but it did the trick. Mary gave it to Klein, who promised to mail it straight away.

—

"I had a letter from Harold today," said Grandmama during dinner, sipping her wine. "He's returning to New York this week."

"Oh," said Mary, somewhat surprised. Truth be told, she hadn't given much thought at all to her uncle since she had come to America. Truth be told, she had only met him the once during Rose's Season and she hadn't really bothered to know him. Grandmama mentioned him occasionally, of course, but he had been off in Newport the entire duration of Mary's stay.

"I think he'll make it in time for the wedding," said Grandmama, which caused Mary to glance over to Tom. It seemed strange, Uncle Harold being at their wedding when neither of them really knew him that well, especially when they hadn't planned on extending the invitation to anyone save for Edith. "But I was wondering if maybe the two of you would be interested in moving to the cottage in Newport now that he'll be away. I know you were looking for places in New York but I wasn't so certain how much of it had to do with the city and how much of it had to do with remaining in America."

Mary felt rather flustered, knowing full well what she was getting at. "Well, I don't know how much thought we gave to it," said Tom finally, looking over to Mary. "I don't think it occurred to either of us to live anywhere else."

"You're welcome to stay in New York if you wish, of course," said Grandmama, reaching for her wine. "I don't even have objections to you remaining here... but I understand that with two small children, you'll want plenty of space and you'll want some privacy."

"We'll think about it," promised Mary. She glanced at Tom, wondering what he thought of the prospect, but his expression betrayed none of his thoughts. It wasn't until after dinner that they were actually afforded the opportunity.

"Did you find anything promising today in the way of flats?" asked Mary after Grandmama dismissed herself to bed, making them promise not to reveal to Mama she had left them unchaperoned.

"Not really. I was originally looking for two bedroom places for Sybbie and I. Now I've needed to look for a bigger place and needed to raise my standards, if you're to be living there with me." Mary simply smiled in response to that. She wouldn't apologize for having impeccable taste. "Though of course we have your grandmother's option to consider."

"What do you think?" asked Mary.

"I doesn't matter to me where we are, as long as I'm with you." He reached for her hand and the warmth in her chest grew exponentially. "I figured you wanted to stay in the city."

Mary shrugged. "I needed to get away from everyone who knew us. This was the only option that made much sense." She thought about it. Truth be told, she didn't know how well she would fare in a flat... and buying a house might be cumbersome when it came time to return home. "I don't mind the city, but I miss the quiet. And the cottage in Newport is lovely. It would remind me more of Downton." Then, feeling the need to convince him, she added, "It's right next to the ocean as well. The children would love it."

"Alright, then. We'll live in Newport until we're ready to return home." Tom smiled.

 _Home._ "Is it your home now? Downton?"

"Strange as it is for me to admit, it is." Tom let out a soft laugh. "It's grown on me. Mostly because of the people there... but I've missed the estate, too. I've been dreaming of it since I left."

"Have you?" Mary was oddly charmed by the admission, tilting her head to the side.

Tom nodded, adding, "That is, when I wasn't busy dreaming about you."

Mary was startled by her own swiftness as their lips crashed together. She had missed him so much, to a level she hadn't been willing to admit. Having him here reminded her of that gaping loneliness that had permeated her existence and how grateful she was that it was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely reviews! I'm going to take a quick break tomorrow, as it's looking like it will be a busy day and I want to get the next chapter of The Lady in Black out, but Chapter 9 will be up Monday!

**From York to New York**

**Chapter Eight**

Mary woke before Tom, still sleepy but excited when she remembered what day it was. Instead of shaking him awake as she had the first couple of days, she began pressing kisses against the expanse of his chest. She had learned how much he liked it and how it was a more effective method of rousing him.

She felt him groan, the low hum vibrating against her lips. "We need to get up," she said softly as his eyes began fluttering open. "Edith and George will be here soon and I need to dress."

"Alright," he agreed, but he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her down towards him. A giggle escaped her, a strange sound for her to make but one that was increasing in regularity the longer she adjusted to this new arrangement with Tom. "But give me a kiss first."

Mary obliged gladly, hands finding a place on either side of his face. It was hard to remember why she had needed to leave in the first place, given how warm and comfortable it was under his covers. Nevertheless, she forced herself to extricate herself from him and find her dressing gown on the floor.

Mary moved through the hall back to her own room, her bare feet quiet against the carpeted floor. They learned quickly that it was simpler for Mary to slip into Tom's room after Klein readied her for bed than for him to approximate which time the maid had left. Mary didn't mind; it was worth the risk, in her opinion.

As Klein helped her dress, Mary's nerves began to flood back. As happy as she was to see George again, she wasn't sure if she was ready to tell Edith that her and Tom were marrying. " _Why_?" Tom asked when she raised her concerns. " _Isn't that why she summoned me here?_ "

Mary had rolled her eyes. " _No. She still thinks you're here to keep me company._ " When Tom still appeared confused, she clarified, " _I didn't tell her whose it was."_

He understood her meaning. " _You didn't?"_

" _I meant what I said, Tom. I wasn't going to tell anyone."_ He met her eyes and she didn't allow herself to turn away. " _Knowing Edith, she would have done some sneaky, underhanded thing like write you and tell you."_ She arched her eyebrow, aiming for some humor.

Tom laughed, thankfully. " _You aren't mad that she told me you were here, are you?"_

Mary raised her eyebrows. " _What do you think?_ " But, just in case it was unclear, she leaned forward to give him a kiss.

Once she was dressed, Mary tried to steel up her nerves. She joined everyone (including Uncle Harold, who had arrived the day before) downstairs, barely eating any of her breakfast. Tom noticed, reaching for the hand that wasn't holding her fork. She smiled gratefully at him.

"It'll be alright," Tom said to Mary once they had a chance to be alone. "Even if she's angry, I'll be here."

She smiled gratefully at him. "I don't care what Edith thinks about me," she said honestly, reaching for his hand. "I just don't want her to be nasty to you."

"Why would she do that?"

"You'll be marrying the enemy."

Tom scoffed, but was grinning. "If she saw you as her enemy, I don't think she would have taken so much care to help you and the little one."

Mary couldn't resist smiling herself. Tom had started calling the baby that, already speaking to it. It was rather sweet and it made Mary think of that fondness he had shown Sybbie at the park. "We might be on friendlier terms at the moment, but I'd say we've merely called a ceasefire. The war isn't over yet and I doubt it shall be over until one of us is dead."

Tom rolled his eyes but his gaze softened. "Don't stress yourself out worrying about me. I can handle Edith. You forget that once upon a time it was the both of you against me. You put on quite the united front."

Mary stifled a laugh, remembering the night they had chased him and Sybil down to stop them from eloping. It seemed unfathomable, that they were the same people. "I think that was the last time Edith and I agreed on something," she said, arching an eyebrow. "But of course we were wrong."

Despite his reassurances, Mary was beyond nervous when, midway through one of Uncle Harold's tales regaling them of his time in Newport, Olsen announced the arrival of their guests to those collected in the drawing room. "We'd best go out and greet them," said Grandmama, rising to her feet.

Mary was smiling as they walked outside, ready to hug her son and maybe even Edith... only for her smile to fall.

"Tom!" Papa cried out, stepping out of the motor, followed by Mama. He was holding Marigold in his arms, squinting thanks to the bright sunshine. "How marvelous to see you again!"

"It's wonderful to see you as well," Tom said somewhere beside her, though he didn't sound as enthused as he might have normally.

When Edith emerged from the car with George, she gave Mary an apologetic look. Before Mary could make her displeasure with this display fully known, Mama was pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Oh, Mary, you look so lovely! New York clearly agrees with you, you're just glowing!"

"Thank you, Mama," Mary said with little emotion, inwardly panicking

It wasn't until she finally had a chance to bend down and hug George that her smile properly returned. "I missed you, Mummy," he said, burying his face in her neck.

"And I missed you, my darling boy. You have no idea how much." She let her hands stroke his smooth blond hair. At least now they could be together.

Mary pulled Edith aside after everyone else had gone in to the parlor. "Why did you bring Mama and Papa?" she hissed, standing out in the hall.

"I tried to stop them! They wouldn't listen to me!"

"You might have sent a telegram to warn me!"

"It will only be for a few days," insisted Edith. "They're going to try to persuade you to come home but as long as you remain firm they'll go home without an argument... and perhaps we can convince Tom to go home instead. That would take the pressure off you."

Mary said nothing, mentally debating with herself if she should say anything. Edith mistook her silence as anger and let out a huff. "Don't tell me you two are still feuding."

"No. It's not that at all. We're on good terms again." Edith let out a sigh of relief. "But... Tom's going to be staying here as well."

"But why? Does he know about...?" Her gaze dropped down to Mary abdomen.

"Yes, for heaven's sake, he knows!"

"Don't bite my head off!" Edith snapped. "So that wasn't why you were fighting?"

"What do you mean?" Had Edith somehow guessed the reason why they had been at each other's throats before he left Downton?

"I wondered if he knew who the baby's father was and he wanted you to put a stop to the affair."

"No. That wasn't it."

"Is he staying then? To help you with... you know?"

"Among other things," said Mary uncomfortably.

"Like what?"

"You'll find out later."

"No," Edith was firm, jaw jutting out. "You'll tell me right now. I've concealed your secret for months and I haven't breathed a word to anyone."

"Hasn't it occurred to you that it isn't your business?"

"You _made_ it my business," insisted Edith. Then, adding rather petulantly, "And why does Tom get to know but I don't? You couldn't even bear hearing his name a month ago—"

Mary's frustration was reaching new heights as her sister carried on. Eventually, it came bursting out, like lava from a volcano. "Oh for heavens sake, Tom _is_ the father."

A stunned silence fell over the two sisters. Edith's eyes were wide open with shock, mouth agape. Mary braced herself, cringing internally. She hadn't meant to tell Edith this... and if she ever had, it wasn't meant to be like this.

"What...? You mean... you and Tom?" Mary nodded slowly. Edith paled, looking faint. "Oh my God."

"We're getting married," Mary said, figuring she might as well pull off the plaster all in one go.

"Oh my God!" Edith's voice was growing shriller and shriller. Mary glanced nervously at the door, hoping no one would overhear her sister breaking down. This wasn't the way everyone should find out.

"We wanted Mama and Papa to find out after the wedding was over— but now that's ruined and they'll likely object." She thought bitterly about all the plans they had made, knowing there would be a fight now, a permanent black shadowing hanging over what was supposed to be one of happiest times of their lives.

"I can't believe it! _You_ and _Tom_!"

"Yes, Edith, it's all very shocking."

"Don't be glib about this!" Edith hissed, eyes still wide. "You— you slept with our brother-in-law! Sybil's husband!"

"Yes. I know."

"How can you be so calm about this? You know it's going to kill Mama and Papa when they find out!"

"Funnily enough, I wasn't planning on telling them about the sleeping together bit," Mary said in a monotone, though she herself was lamenting how poorly this was all going. "We were planning on announcing the pregnancy after the wedding, as to not arouse suspicion."

Edith suddenly grimaced. "Oh God!" Before Mary could ask what it was about, Edith cried out, "Why— Where? You said you two didn't make it to a bed!"

"Are you sure you want me answering that question?" Mary asked, not certain her sister could handle it and not wanting to divulge details hers and Tom's intimate life. Besides, given how serious things were with Bertie Pelham (who was agent at Brancaster and clearly had thoughts of marriage), Mary suspected Edith would be even more horrified to learn their escapade took place at Brancaster Castle.

"Mary? Edith? Is everything alright? You're missed in the parlor." Tom had stepped out now, rejoining them in the hall. His footsteps began slowing. "Edith?"

"I'm afraid Edith's had rather a shock," Mary told him, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "She knows."

Tom nodded slowly, before giving her a quizzical look. "Does she know...?"

"She knows everything now."

"Ah. I see how that could be overwhelming."

"How can you two stand there and joke about this?" demanded Edith. "Have you forgotten about Sybil? How could you go to bed together? I expected better from you, Tom!"

Mary only had eyes for him after her sister's nasty pronouncement, especially when he flinched. They hadn't really discussed that yet and she couldn't help but worry this was the shove Tom would need to convince him otherwise of their plan, especially given his past anxieties.

"Edith," Tom said levelly, with much more composure than she thought he might, "you've had a shock. I don't mean to make light of that." His eyes scanned her over. "Are you feeling well?"

Edith blinked rapidly before shaking her head. "I—I think I need to sit. Or to lie down..."

"I'll help you upstairs," said Tom, moving to Edith's side and wrapping an arm around her waist. "Mary, will you go into the parlor and make our excuses? Tell them Edith's had a spell and that I'll be back soon."

Mary nodded wordlessly in response, hanging back as her fiancé guided Edith up the stairs... or was he even her fiancé anymore? Suppose he changed his mind? There were so many factors at hand that could lead to all this crumbling down. Suddenly all the excitement from this morning, along with the anticipation that had been building up with each passing day, dissipated.


End file.
